The Singing Toad
by Rhianona
Summary: Ianto Jones walked into a bar and meets... Alastor Moody. It's just a bar he goes to after work. So what if everyone there dresses a bit weird?


_**Disclaimer: **_[Insert witty comment here] Torchwood & Harry Potter belong to people other than me.

_**Author's Note:**_ Originally written for the 'X walks into a bar and meets Y" challenge. I was given 'Ianto Jones meets Alastor Moody'

* * *

Ianto couldn't remember why he originally started going to the _Singing Toad_, but it had fast become his favorite pub. The first time he entered the pub, it had grown silent, the regular patrons staring at him with ill-concealed distrust. And frankly, had Ianto not spent the day chasing down a Chr'sak ship that had crashed in the Welsh countryside, followed by organizing housing for the refugees, he might have walked right out again. However, he was far too tired to do more than send an impassive look at the glares he received and order a pint.

Pure stubbornness forced him to return, usually after a particularly difficult day at Torchwood, when all he wanted was a drink before he headed home and collapsed in exhaustion for a few hours before the cycle began all over again. His persistence paid off and eventually, the other regulars warmed to him; if he noted the old-fashioned dress, or the odd expressions they uttered, or the strange drinks they ordered, he never commented. In the same vein, he never had a visible reaction to the seemingly magical feats he sometimes observed. All of that combined to make him if not a popular fellow, at least acceptable, and over time, the other patrons nodded in greeting to him or mumbled 'hello.'

As time went on, Ianto found himself frequenting the pub more often than ever before. His job still ran him ragged and his colleagues caused him more stress so he rarely wanted to join them for a pint or game of snooker or whatever else Gwen came up with to facilitate 'bonding.' He preferred the quiet of this pub, the lack of pressure to socialize and bare his life to all and sundry despite whatever else he might desire. He rather enjoyed not having to play the foil against Jack but instead, he could simply unwind and pretend he had nothing to do with Torchwood.

Fall moved into winter and winter into spring with the other patrons accepting him into their circle. Ianto's favorite fellow patron, by far, was a grizzled veteran of a man who looked as if he had been through the proverbial grinder and beaten it into submission. Alastor Moody had a wooden leg, a chunk missing from his nose and a crazy, whirling fake eye. He always watched any potential entrances to the pub and viewed everyone with a deep level of suspicion. He went so far as to not even drink or eat any of the food the pub sold, drinking only from a silver hip flask he carried on his person.

Ianto personally found him interesting as opposed to everyone else who always viewed the other man with a combination of awe and fear. He never did more than raise an eye at the other man's extreme measures of vigilance and in return, Moody never pushed to know what drove Ianto into the pub.

That all changed one early summer night; Ianto arrived, as was his wont, after dinner had long passed. He had almost forgone his guilty pleasure but then Jack had texted him and he suddenly and desperately needed to be out, to be away from everything that was Torchwood. The _Singing Toad_ was surprisingly busy and complete strangers peered at him with confused frowns that only cleared when some of the regulars nodded in greeting and the barkeep readied his pint. He tossed over a few coins to cover it and settled into "his" table. Despite the crowded nature of the pub, no one had sat in the free chair.

"Moody," he greeted with a nod and took a sip of his pint. He rolled his neck and arched his back, trying to loosen tired and tightened muscles and only somewhat succeeded. He'd have to make an appointment for a massage soon; his body would appreciate it. Never mind that the last few times he had made such an appointment, he had had to cancel due to Torchwood business.

Maybe this time he'd get lucky.

"Jones," the other man greeted, his eye whirling in its socket, eying him and others in the vicinity with paranoid suspicion. "Didn't expect to see you here tonight."

Ianto shrugged. "It's been a while and I missed your old face," he quipped. Moody snorted and took a sip from his flask.

"Aye, lad… Not many who would admit to that."

"I'm not just anyone," Ianto countered.

"No, no you're not," Moody agreed. A comfortable silence fell between them and Ianto did his best to relax and let the stress from his job fall to the wayside.

"You never did say how you found this pub," Moody said suddenly.

"I…," Ianto frowned with an arched brow. Why did it matter? He'd been coming to the pub for months now and he'd thought people had stopped questioning his presence. "Not sure really. Was just looking for someplace to relax after work and walked past here. Seemed as good a place as any to get a pint."

Moody grunted; his eye whirled around in his head as raucous laughter erupted from the corner. "Your folks – are they from around here?"

"Mam's from outside Newport but Tad's from here," he finally replied. He didn't like talking about his parents.

Whatever else Moody might have said was interrupted as strangers blew open the doors and immediately began firing some sort of strange energy weapon – an energy weapon others in the pub seemed to have as well. Ianto pushed back his chair and dropped low to the ground. "Stay down!" Moody barked to him and moved forward to protect the younger man. For such a veteran, he moved with a graceful ease that belied his age and former injuries.

The attackers wore similar robes as the usual patrons of the pub did, though theirs were a uniform black. They also wore strange white masks that resembled a skull. Ianto took all this in as he watched the lights, usually accompanied by what sounded like Latin, which erupted from the wooden sticks held by nearly everyone in the pub. He quickly realized that the various colored lights resulted in different outcomes for the person successfully hit. Sometimes, the lights splashed against shields, flaring brilliantly before dimming again. Screams and cries of pain echoed in the room proving without a doubt that the lights did not have a purely benign purpose.

Moody continued to protect Ianto and returned fire against the attackers. From what little he could see Ianto thought he was effective but his foes had barricaded themselves in front of the entrance and it was difficult to tell who had gotten taken out of the fight. He wanted to ask what was going on, who was attacking them, and just what type of weapons they were using, but focused instead on removing his sidearm and stun gun.

Ianto didn't actually like to use guns; Jack had made sure he was at the least competent with the tricked out S&W 1911 Torchwood agents commonly used so he knew he wouldn't be firing blindly into the crowd but that knowledge didn't exactly relieve him. He didn't feel comfortable playing executioner if he shot to kill and given the lack of similar sentiments from the attackers, he found he had no true compunction about using his gun against them.

The table at which he and Moody had been sitting had been flipped to the floor and provided both of them with a modicum of protection. Ianto moved to lend what aid he could, all the while wondering when - or if the authorities would arrive to break up the fight.

He had no idea how he would spin it but he was certain he could figure out a proper cover story if necessary.

Looking over the table behind which he hid, he carefully brought up his gun to bear. He took a deep breath, remembering the training Jack had given to him and braced himself to take a shot. While Moody drew a lot of attention to himself with his steady salvo of the colored lights, Ianto used the inattention towards himself to his advantage and shot the nearest enemy – whoever that person happened to be.

The report of the gun, fired in the enclosed space of the pub's common room, echoed loudly in a room in which the weapons used were silent and voice activated. People from both sides of the conflict turned to stare at him in confusion but Ianto only took advantage to re-aim his gun. "Please place down your weapons," he ordered, his voice calm and not demonstrating any of the nerves he felt.

Someone snarled angrily and he wondered if he had perhaps, made the situation worse. Another part of his mind wondered if this altercation, caused for whatever reason, fell under Torchwood jurisdiction and almost groaned at the thought of how much paperwork that might mean for him.

The person he had shot moaned in pain and that seemed to galvanize the others. There was a loud crack that sounded like thunder; one of the attackers peered around the door to the outside and cursed. "It's the Aurors!" and as if that was a signal, his compatriots disappeared with another crack.

Levering himself up, gun still aimed towards the door, Ianto could do nothing more than blink. He turned to Moody, whose eye whirled crazily in his head and looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"So… not aliens then?" he asked.

Moody looked as surprised as he ever had and snorted. "No. Witches and wizards."

Ianto nodded sagely, as if that made so much more sense. "I see. That's a bit different. Guess you won't need Torchwood to clean this up then. That's good, because frankly, I'm knackered."

"Aye laddie… we'll clean up here. Why don't you head home and when you come in next we'll talk." It wasn't really a suggestion so much as an order. It was also one which Ianto felt fairly good about obeying, so he merely nodded goodbye to Moody and those patrons who hadn't yet left and headed home.

For once, Ianto was glad he didn't have to manage the aftermath of an 'Incident.' Frankly, he still hadn't decided whether he wanted to know about this new world he had stumbled upon. Aliens were one thing but magic? A whole different story.

Maybe he'd wake in the morning and discover it was all a dream brought on by something that fell through the Rift?

Except… he didn't really want that either. He genuinely liked the people he had met and spoke with at the _Singing Toad_ over the last few months. It would be a shame if it were all an elaborate hallucination. He snorted as he let himself into his flat. Who was he kidding? He was definitely returning to the pub. It was the only place he could decompress after a crazy day at Torchwood.

It looked like he could add witches and wizards to his list of friends.

_/fin_


End file.
